


Mechanical Flesh

by Kittenfightclub



Category: Death Machine (1994)
Genre: ...cuddling with robots, Cuddling, I almost feel bad for him, Jack is less of a creepy shit this time, Nyctophobia, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 13:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11314389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenfightclub/pseuds/Kittenfightclub
Summary: It sat in the corner, motionless, dejected, Jack thought, and he crawled closer, waving his arms along the floor in wide arcs for some degree of visibility. It was pitch black. Jack whimpered, but then his fingers connected with cool metal.





	Mechanical Flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karvolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karvolf/gifts), [Barbarismbeginsathome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbarismbeginsathome/gifts).



> tfw more than half the fics in the Ao3 tag were written by yours truly  
> y'all need to upload some more shit bc i refuse to read my own :P

Jack Dante had been brought to CHAANK to build machines- originally just small sprightly weapons that didn't cause too much damage but would sell like hotcakes (something that the CEOs had somehow thought was appropriate for such a young boy). He had been good at it too; he would still be good at it. He would have continued doing it for a lifetime, since CHAANK was always in need of new weapons engineers (they were always disappearing at the most inopportune times). 

Then, they needed new material, so they had him work on newer weapons, bigger weapons, military grade monster suits, capable of transforming men into mindless machines that would fulfil commands without question.

 

He could have stayed employed forever: he did good work, he got good pay -perhaps not what he deserved, but they had to keep a low profile, these machines were lethal, and certainly not legal-. That is, he would have stayed employed forever had he not started working on personal projects.

 

The Warbeast was Jack Dante’s finest creation, and he adored it. It could kill efficiently with it’s industrial steel claws, and, to CHAANK, killing was really all you needed from a machine. More than that though- Dante found some sort of comfort in it.

  
  


Machines don’t have feelings, they don’t have personalities, they don’t have emotions, but no one had ever loved Dante, and he mistook the machine’s bland mechanical indifference for adoration. He loved the Warbeast, and it obeyed his every command. It was more powerful than the Hardman would ever be, so gradually Dante lost interest in that project, devoting all of his attention to his creation- his monster-.

 

.

 

The Hardman project was incomplete, and there were still many flaws in the design that Dante refused to address. It caused memory loss and insanity in its wearers; most of those who put on the suit died. When it was put face to face with his greatest creation, it should have been no contest...

But it wasn’t.

 

His greatest creation: The Warbeast, lost to some jerkoff piece of hippie garbage in a metal suit. A metal suit that Dante had created, sure, but still a piece of shit that should have been no problem for the Warbeast to crush into a metal basketball with its steel claws and shoot single handedly into the nearest trashcan.

 

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Dante wasn’t supposed to lose. Jack Dante wasn’t supposed to end up trapped in a dark room with only a bomb and his own deadly creation. Well… at least he had that. He deserved much less. 

  
  


It was dark, and Jack was scared of the dark. He regretted the fact that he had not thought to include lights on his machine, for the only thing to illuminate the room were the blinking red lights of the handheld bomb. Soon, hopefully, the bomb would settle down into stand-by, however that also meant the extinguishing of that final light.

  
  


It did, and Dante let out a sigh of relief, or fear. In the dark nothing was familiar, not even the cold walls of the containment cell where he had far-from-reluctantly spent time perfecting his machine. He took a step and tripped over nothing. He did not get up from the ground. Nothing was familiar, nothing was safe, nothing was good… The Warbeast.

 

It sat in the corner, motionless,  _ dejected,  _ Jack thought, and he crawled closer, waving his arms along the floor in wide arcs for some degree of visibility. It was pitch black. Jack whimpered, but then his fingers connected with cool metal.

He felt along the shape, pressing his fingers into the small craters- dents in its metallic skin- as he scooted closer still. Now, with both hands, he pressed delicately against the shattered mechanical flesh.   
  
.   
  
It wouldn’t attack him, it’s  _ master _ ; it had been designed that way. Who would create a monster that was capable of killing the very person who made it? Maybe a lesser engineer would make that mistake, but not Jack Dante.

Most other engineers were smarter in the respect that they did not think their creations capable of love. As Jack Dante scooted closer into the metal embrace, sobbing into his hands, as he looked around blindly, scraping his knees against the cool concrete; he wished more than anything for a warm touch, a light, anything to end this cold darkness.

 

The machine could not give him that, but it was motionless as he sank back against it, shuddering out breath after breath and flexing his fingers against its steel surface. He could punch it, kick it, abuse it, and it would remain motionless. He could take out his anger, his frustration, on this machine, and never have to worry again. He wouldn’t, he loved the Warbeast, but he could.   
  
As it was, he just sat, and stared out into the dark expanse. (He knew this room like the back of his hand- he had spent long nights here working out the particulars of the very machine he was now stuck with-, but in the dark it seemed different, much larger and eerier.). Leaning back against his creation, with one of its elongated metallic arms on either side, he felt safe. He felt at home in its familiar embrace. He felt loved.


End file.
